A Little Bit Moody
by Miss Suicide Kitten
Summary: MadEye Moody has lost a couple of body parts, an eye, a leg, a nose, a buttock ? But he’s also missing a sad and frightful past. Moody scares pants off Trainee Aurors. Better later. MoodyOC.
1. The WellBehaved World of Alan Moody

**Chapter One**

**The Well-Behaved World of Alan Moody**

**Disclaimer: I don't own my main character. Wish I did. But I don't. Don't own Shacklebolt, Scrimgeour, and Frank Longbottom & various others. Everyone else is mine. The way Aurors are tested & trained - mine. Basically if you know it it's J. K.'s. If not…mine.**

Alan Moody was a happy, ordinary man. His wife, Rachel Anne Moody, could be slightly odd at times, but she was also very well-behaved. They had a well-behaved dog named Scruffy and a hamster named Noodle. (Noodle was considered a badly-behaved hamster because every so often she would urinate on the well-behaved carpet in the front room.)

Alan Moody had a well-behaved front lawn that grew green and very straight, and he mowed it twice weekly. Alan Moody also had a daughter named Anne, who was a normal and well-behaved child. She had blonde pigtails and went to preschool every two days.

He worked in a gray office building on Front Street, accounting for a construction company. His co-workers were very well-behaved. So were his neighbours. So were all the drivers on the roads going to and from work.

He had lunch every day at the deli across from the office, (a ham sandwich and 2 milk.) The girl at the register had neat brown hair and was well-behaved.

One part of his life was decidedly _not _well-behaved.

His son. Alastor.

As Alan sat behind the driver's wheel of his Chevrolet Aveo and looked out at the traffic, his mind turned that dangerous corner. He looked in his breifcase for some well-behaved aspirin. Even thinking about his son gave him a migraine.

As Alan Moody, the Muggle, sat in the route of his dull, monotonous life, he was not at all aware that his wife was keeping dangerous secrets from him.

You see, Rachel Anne Moody, was no ordinary housewife. Oh, yes, she washed the dishes with detergent and the clothes with bleach, swept the floors with a broom and vacuumed with a Dirt Devil, cooked with a stove and always used PAM in the frying pan. A very _well-behaved _woman. Her husband, whom she cared for very much, would never understand the secret that followed her like a swarm of flies. This secret was best made material by an innocent looking piece of polished oak that she kept in the front pocket of her apron.

Alan Moody had no way of knowing it, but he was married to a witch.

Rachel Moody was careful, oh, yes, she was a thorough, careful woman. She knew for a fact that her oldest child, Alastor, was not a Muggle like his father. Her feelings were confused about that. She shouldn't feel guilty about it - she was a witch after all, it was to be expected. But still, as the small, ginger-haired boy's eleventh birthday approached, she found herself praying that he would turn out a Muggle. The little girl, Anne, certainly had no magical abilities, and Alan got along fine with her. She was his little princess.

But Alastor --- no. There had always been tension between the two. They were far too much alike --- the same dark, serious eyes, the same stubborn streak. What separated them, Rachel thought, was that Alan was a great believer in the norm. Nothing could shake his idea of reality. Alastor, on the other hand, wanted desperately to believe there was something… _else. _He felt the way she'd felt as a child; left out, excluded, like a freak.

Just at that moment, the screen door banged open. Her son trudged in, covered from head to toe in mud, a red stain, like blood, spreading across his left hand. His little hands were clenched into fists.

Rachel raised her head. She was on all fours on the floor, scrubbing the linoleum.

"Alastor, what happened?" she asked, concern marking her dark eyes.

Alastor scowled, an odd expression on his little face. "Tommy said… He said you were queer." He took a breath. "So I socked him. In the nose. Got blood on me." He raised his left fist. Rachel's eyes opened wide. That was _certainly _something his father wouldn't have done. Alan would have curled up and cried.

"Alastor," she scolded, "What have I told you about fighting?"

"Not to do it," the boy grumbled.

Rachel nodded. "Good. Go up and take your clothes off, I'll run you a bath to get this dirt off. Then," she said firmly, "I'll settle on a punishment."

Alastor turned around and, walking up the stairs, pulled his shirt off, throwing it in a muddy heap on Mrs. Moody's clean floor. "One day," she grumbled as she bent to pick it up, "He'll get into serious trouble with a bigger boy, and I'll never see him again."

Then, she turned up the stairs to run a bath for her son.


	2. A Strange Invasion

**Chapter Two**

**A Strange Invasion**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Moody. Sad, cause he's wicked awesome. But I don't. Don't shoot me.**

**Note: There won't be many other notes. Just saying, the next chapter will be more interesting. Again, don't shoot me. Also, this chappy's longer than the last. And maybe more boring. I could kill somebody in it…I think I will…**

The first owl arrived that night, just as the Moodys had settled down to dinner. It was a great big tawny owl, with glittering gold eyes, a fat letter clutched in it's yellow talons.

The pecking on the window made Alan look up sharply from his plate. Alastor felt his insides heave over. Something important was happening. Something very important, and he could feel it. The air outside the Moody house was cool and damp, the wind rushing like a whisper over the well-behaved grass.

Alan Moody looked at the owl. Mrs. Moody looked at her husband apprehensively, but rose from her seat and walked to the window.

"Rachel. What are you doing?" Mr. Moody enquired. It was not normal of his wife to let strange creatures in the house. They might dirty the hardwood. "Rachel, what's going on?"

Mrs. Moody paid no attention. Her hands shook with apprehension as she loosed the catch on the window frame, and pulled the glass open.

The owl swooped in, majestic tawny wings spread wide. Alastor's intial thought was _I want one. _Anne just looked up at the strange bird with her blue eyes wide, spoon and the rice in it stopped halfway to her mouth. Leaving the window open, Mrs. Moody walked calmly over to the owl, which was standing with it's scaly leg held out. Mr. Moody appeared to be frozen in disbelief.

"Close your mouth, Alan, or the owl will fly in," Mrs. Moody suggested. Mr. Moody's mouth snapped closed. She reached out a hand and untied the red ribbon on the bird's leg. With a soft hoot, it opened it's wings and flew back out the window.

Alan Moody was taken very much aback. His wife _never _spoke in such a way.

Slowly, methodically, Mrs. Moody closed the window and sat down, laying the letter in front of Alastor's plate with a slight smile.

"It's for you." she said, with certainty.

"N-now, R-Rachel!" Mr. Moody spluttered, suddenly coming to life, "I w-would like to know th-the m-meaning of t-t-this!"

Alastor stared at the letter in front of him. It was like something from a dream. Raising one small hand, he brushed the green, spidery writing on the front of the envelope.

_Mr. Alastor Moody_

_The Dinner Table, East Seat by the Window_

_312 Redford Place, Surrey_

_England, United Kingdom, Europe_

"Mum!" he managed to gasp. "It knows where I _sit_!"

Mrs. Moody nodded, smiling slightly. "Yes, Al. It knows all about you." She then looked at her husband and said quite calmly, a couple of words that shattered his entire reality. Alastor was to busy admiring his letter to notice.

"Alan," she stated, "You are married to a witch. And Alastor, your son, is a wizard." There was a note of pride in her voice.

Mr. Moody looked down the table at his medium-sized, fairly attractive, ginger-haired wife, who was wearing her frilled check apron as she always did, as if she had suddenly sprouted three heads.

What he said, however, was "Some sort of warning would have been nice, dear."

-------------------

Alastor left the dining room clutching his letter to his chest. It was all here… Everything he needed to know about his new life as… a wizard. His mother had said he was one. The owl had come for him. That made him one. He ripped it open eagerly.

Inside was a list of supplies, robes… He could barely get his small, ginger head around it. There was so much he needed to know. But he did, as small children do, accept it without any question, without thinking it could be a hoax or a joke… Without a thought at all, really.

Alastor folded the two pieces of thick parchment carefully and reinserted them into the envelope. Lying it on his little bedside table gently, the print facing out, he took one last look at it before he pulled his pyjamas on and shimmied under his race car comforter.

There was a small smile on his little mouth as he lay there, thinking of magic, and adventure.

-------------------

Rachel left her husband in the front room with a brandy in his fist, several hours later. She crept up the stairs, silently, and pushed open the door to her daughter's room.

Anne was lying on her side, her Barbie clutched firmly in one fist as she slept. Her butter-coloured hair was spilled out across the pillowcase, her breathing slow and regular.

She moved on, down the hall to her son's bedroom. He was lying perfectly still. _Too _still.

"Alastor?" Mrs. Moody laughed. He tensed up visibly. "Al, honey, I know you're awake. I really need to talk to you, okay? I'm not mad."

His little voice floated across the room. "You promise?"

"I promise," she smiled. She turned the dimmer switch down and then flicked on the soft orange light that hung on the ceiling.

"Al, honey," she said for the second time. His eyes popped open, and he flung the comforter off of himself, sitting erect, eyes twinkling eagerly. Mrs. Moody grinned at him. Alastor grinned back.

"Firstly," she said, kneeling down before her excited son and gathering his little frame into a warm hug, "Congratulations, Alastor Moody! And secondly," she said, as she let go, "I have to explain something to you."

She sat down on the mattress beside him as he pulled his knees up to his chin.

"You Gran and Gramps were, like me, _and you, _a witch and a wizard. And I was their only child, and a witch." she pulled her wand out of her pocket. He eyed it greedily. "This," she whispered conspiratorially, "Is my wand."

He put out his little hand, eyes shining. "Your _wand?" _he breathed. So much was overwhelming him. "Mum… you can do _magic??_"

"I'm not called a witch for nothing!" she laughed. "Here, I'll show you a simple one --- you'll be learning it soon enough!" Pointing her wand at the model of a transport truck on his window sill, she said, with a swish-and-flick, "_Wingardium Leviosa!"_

His jaw dropped into his lap from wonder and surprise as the truck, which he knew to be extremely heavy, floated gently up into the air, as if it were nothing more than a feather. "_Nox,_" Mrs. Moody commanded, and the truck dropped gently back down. Alastor looked incredulously from his mother, (who he'd lovingly considered "just an ordinary mother" until that point,) to his truck (which he could not wait to levitate on his own,) and back.

"I can _do _that?" he cried in amazement, "Let me try!"

Mrs. Moody jerked her wand away from his reflexive grab at it. "Oh, no! Al, not yet!" His small face fell considerably. "You have to get your own. I'm taking you tomorrow!"

"You can buy these?" he asked. "Wait a minute," His eyes narrowed. "How do I know you're not tricking me? There could be invisible wires, like there are in the movies. Or maybe…" his eyes widened with surprise, "Maybe you're _not my mother at all!!"_

She could see the initial shock and elation fading quickly.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" he wondered.

"Al! Al, honey, it's me! God, you're just like your grandfather!" she laughed, patting him on the shoulder. His dark eyes still glimmered with concern and suspicion. "You're named after him, you know. He was an Auror."

"What's that?"

"A Dark-wizard-catcher."

"So, like the Wizard Police?"

"Well, kind of. But it's not the same thing when you're chasing a criminal who can do magic."

"Okay," he challenged. "So prove it. Prove you're a witch. You never said anything about it before. Why don't you use it to…" he seemed at a loss, "To do whatever it is that you do!"

"Don't think I haven't been tempted!" she laughed again. "But Al, I love your father. And he thought I was just a normal, Muggle girl, and, well, he prob---"

"What's a Moggle?" Alastor interrupted. Mrs. Moody rolled her eyes.

"It's someone, like your father, who can't do magic like you and I."

"Wait!" he cried once again, "How do you know I'm a wizard if dad's not one?"

She smiled gently at him. She knew it would come to this eventually. Al was that sort of child.

"Well, Alastor, there are a few things…Remember the time I made rice?"

"You _always _make rice," he sighed. "I HATE rice!"

She went on. "Exactly what you said back then. You said you wanted mashed potatoes…"

-----------

_Mr. Moody was late. Again. Mrs. Moody always made Minute Rice when Mr. Moody was late. There it was, steaming in it's brown microwave container, and Alastor wanted nothing to do with it at all._

"_Mum," he whined, "Can you make me mashed potatoes? I hate rice. We ALWAYS have rice!"_

"_No, Alastor," Mrs. Moody responded. "Have some peas."_

_Alastor looked mutinously at the peas on his plate. Vile little balls of sludge. And rice, vile little white maggots… Mashed potatoes, now _that _was real food. Sighing angrily, he took the container his mother handed to him and slammed it onto the table. Mrs. Moody raised a cautionary eyebrow, but Alastor didn't apologise; he spooned the rice onto his plate feeling very insignificant… His own mother wouldn't make him potatoes! His own mother._

_He scrunched up his eyes and plugged his nose with one hand as he anticipated the first bite with dread. He moved the spoon into his mouth, ready to be disgusted, and got a mouthful of… _

Potatoes!

_He chewed. He opened his eyes incredulously. Yes, it was, it was delicious, fluffy, mashed potatoes, THE PERFECT mashed potato, the GREATEST mashed potato of all time. And there, on his plate, where only seconds before had been a dreaded mound of vile rice, was a small mountain of…mashed potato, as if he had served himself that exact thing. Not a grain of rice was to be found._

"_What on earth?" _

_His mother's voice brought him back to reality. She was looking into the rice bowl with an expression of perplexion on her features._

"_Al, did you---?" she began, but cut herself off. _

_The bowl was full of mashed potato, mashed potato that Mrs. Moody had never made._

-------------

Alastor nodded fervently. "Yeah, yeah I do remember… Mum, that was magic?? And the time when the new stall in the school bathroom appeared because the others were full and I really had to go? And the time when the train arrived just on time and we thought it'd be late…And the elephant…And the socks that Aunt Larry gave me…And the gas tank…And the-"

"Yes, Al. That was you. You just didn't know it at the time." Mrs. Moody smiled. "Now go to sleep, Mister. Tomorrow, I'm taking you to Diagon Alley!"

"Where's that?" Alastor interjected as his mother closed the light. She just smiled at him. "You'll see… Night, Alastor."

"Night Mum," he muttered, knowing now that he'd never get any sleep. His mind was too full of possibilities…

**A/N: Mad-Eye grows up SOON, I promise. Writing him little is fun but it'll be more fun when he's older… Phsyched you, didn't I, you actually thought I'd kill someone! No! HEH! Next chappy Alastor's first day at Hoggy Warty Hogwarts!! After that, he GROWS UP!!**


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